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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867137">know me like the back of your hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerheda/pseuds/queerheda'>queerheda</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Katekyou Hitman Reborn!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Sickfic, gokudera works himself to the ground and doesn't know how to take care of himself, i wrote this originally about four years ago and decided to rewrite it better, that's the fic basically</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:14:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerheda/pseuds/queerheda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>It’s nearly noon when Hayato, true to his flame, storms into Takeshi’s office. He looks livid and upset, and it crosses Takeshi’s mind that maybe he should have woken him up in the morning after all</p>
</blockquote>in which gokudera is a workaholic and yamamoto worries.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gokudera Hayato/Yamamoto Takeshi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>know me like the back of your hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>khr in 2021? yes. </p><p>i actually wrote this for sickdays on tumblr four years ago but never posted it here, so i worked on it a little to match my current style and also added about 800 words because why not. i still haven't watched or read khr in years so this is just another headcanon heap.</p><p>title from holy mountain by noel gallagher's high flying birds</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hayato is hands down the most stressed person Takeshi has ever encountered. They’re nineteen years old and he’s had two ulcers, insomnia for years (probably before they even met), and a serious painkiller addiction (thank fuck that’s over), and Takeshi is fairly sure he’s well on his way working himself into a mental institute. </p><p>Hayato is also incredibly stubborn and constantly pissed off, so there's not much Takeshi can do to help. His options are limited to helping Hayato relax and making sure he doesn’t skip meals or sleep, and though he knows Hayato is grateful for all of that, he wishes he could do more. </p><p>At times, though, an opportunity presents itself in the form of some awful bug attacking Hayato’s virtually non-existent immune system. For someone who holds his ability to work in such high regard, Hayato gets sick ridiculously often. Takeshi himself caught a cold maybe two or three years ago and hasn't been sick since, but Hayato is confined to bed at least five times a year and often more. And he never gets just colds either; no, Gokudera Hayato gets the flu, a random stomach bug no one else gets, the flu again, then he collapses from overwork and spends a week not being able to lift a finger, then he has tonsillitis, and then it’s the ulcer’s turn again.</p><p>It’s not like Takeshi is surprised to wake up to his boyfriend falling out of bed and vomiting on the floor. It’s not the first time and it’s not likely to be the last, but it doesn't make it any less worrying. Takeshi rolls to Hayato’s side of the bed and drops to the floor next to him. Hayato is in a loose fetal position, arms around his stomach, coughing and retching up water and half-digested pills. Aspirin, Takeshi would say if he had to guess. And nothing else, <em> nothing </em>else, and Takeshi realizes that either Hayato hasn't been eating again or he’s thrown up after his last meal. He doesn’t know which option he hates more. </p><p>Takeshi is pretty sure that Hayato isn't fully aware of what’s happening. His eyes are wide open but there's a dazed, glassy look in them. Definitely feverish. </p><p>Gradually, the fit comes to an end, but Hayato makes no effort to move besides curling up a little tighter and reaching for his head. A whimper gets Takeshi moving, too – it’s the single sound he hates the most on this planet, beating the pained screaming and the exhausted screaming and the hurt screaming and just about everything else ten to zero, because at least when Hayato is screaming he has the energy to do so. Takeshi’s hands find Hayato’s frail shoulders and lift him up to lean on his chest. Hayato’s breath comes in short, labored gasps as he slumps against Takeshi and then pulls his knees to his chest in a motion that looks almost reflexive.</p><p>“That bad, huh?” Takeshi keeps his voice soft, empathetic. He’s seen this before, but it doesn't make it any easier. Slowly, he starts rubbing circles on Hayato’s stiff shoulders, lightly at first and gradually pushing his fingers deeper. Hayato barely nods, instead bringing his long, scarred fingers to massage his temples. There are some new scars, again, and in the t-shirt Hayato is wearing Takeshi can see the fresh burn marks along his forearms. The digital clock on the nightstand is showing nearly five in the morning. </p><p>They spend a while on the floor, silent, until Takeshi gently nudges Hayato up and tucks him into bed. He quickly cleans up before turning Hayato’s alarm clock off and going back to sleep himself.</p><p>When he wakes up a few hours later, Hayato is fast asleep and looking more peaceful than Takeshi has seen him in weeks. He plants a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead – the fever is definitely still there – before getting up. It’s a Sunday so they don't have much to do, but he wants to catch up on a few things and maybe check on their newer members, though most of them are older than him. Schoolwork is also calling, because apparently you can't escape university even when you’re a core member of one of the most influential mafia families in the world. </p><p>It’s nearly noon when Hayato, true to his flame, storms into Takeshi’s office. He looks livid and upset, and it crosses Takeshi’s mind that maybe he should have woken him up in the morning after all, but then he starts noticing other things too; the disheveled state of his hair, the way his shirt is buttoned wrong, the dark shadows under his eyes against the ghostly pallor of his skin. The fact that his hands are shaking.</p><p>“What the <em> fuck</em>, Takeshi!” Hayato hollers from the door that he just threw open. His voice is raspy and breath short, and he leans on the door frame heavily. Takeshi scrambles up from his desk and hurries to him. “Didn't bother to wake me up, huh? And you <em> turned my fucking alarm off</em>? I have work to do,” he snarls as Takeshi gets close enough. </p><p>“Hayato, you're sick. And you needed the sleep, you haven't been getting enough,” Takeshi tries to explain as calmly as possible. He doesn't step as close as he’d like to, because if Hayato is feeling confrontational, he’ll get pissed by anything, including Takeshi’s superior height. “You were up most of last night, too,” he adds quietly; allows the worry he’s feeling seep into his voice.</p><p>Hayato grits his teeth in irritation.</p><p>“Do you think that I do it <em> willingly</em>? Do you honestly think I <em> enjoy </em> staring at stacks of paper and tutoring snotty grade schoolers all day?” He takes a step forward, right into Takeshi’s personal space, and cranes his neck enough so that his turquoise eyes are staring right into Takeshi’s brown ones. Takeshi takes a step back in turn. </p><p>“Well guess fucking what, I <em> don't</em>! But nobody else is doing it, so someone has to!” Hayato takes a step back, himself, and starts pacing. His arms are flailing in frustration, and Takeshi decides that maybe it's best for him to let him have his rant.</p><p>“I mean, thank God for you and Tenth for doing your job, but we have a fucking <em>ten-year-old</em> in the ranks, and we have the lawn-head who is a goddamn <em>idiot</em>, and then we have fucking <em>Hibari</em>, don’t even get me fucking started on <em>him</em>! Oh, and we have new members and all of the paperwork isn’t completed for that yet. And yes, I fucking <em>know</em> that doesn’t fall under my responsibilities, but it might as well because the asshole whose responsibility it actually is runs <em>entire fucking</em> <em>paragraphs </em>through Google <em>fucking </em>Translate! You know what doesn't work? Japanese to Italian! And I still have fucking university, I’m going to fall behind with my classes at this rate, and… then…” Hayato’s steps slow down with his speech until he stops completely, eyes staring listlessly at nothing as if he’d just forgotten what he was talking about. Takeshi frowns.</p><p>“Takeshi, you know,” Hayato starts again, voice suddenly feeble and high-pitched. He swallows convulsively and his face goes even paler, alarming Takeshi who quickly walks up to him. “I don’t… I think, I… I’m not…” </p><p>“Hayato? What is it?” Takeshi asks, trying to keep himself calm. He places his hand carefully on Hayato’s forehead, and Hayato leans onto his touch. Not surprising, Takeshi tells himself, considering that the fever feels disturbingly high. </p><p>Hayato’s hand reaches for Takeshi’s wrist, gripping it tight. Takeshi seeks Hayato’s other hand to hold; intertwines their fingers. Hayato is shaking and swaying on his feet.</p><p>“I’m gonna pass out,” Hayato announces in a thin, airy breath, just before his eyes roll back and his grip goes slack. There’s a fleeting moment of terror when Takeshi thinks he’s going to fall and hit his head and he won't be able to catch him in time, that somehow he’ll fuck this up really bad.</p><p>Takeshi catches him before he’s anywhere near the ground. His reflexes are unrivalled amongst the majority of the population and surpassed by very, <em> very </em> select few people, and he <em> knows </em>that, but somehow, when it comes to Hayato, he still doubts himself at times. He has this overwhelming need to protect him, and sometimes Hayato makes it so damn hard. And it's ridiculous, really, because Hayato is perfectly capable of holding his own on the battlefield, not to mention he’s terrifyingly intelligent in five languages, but his utter neglect of his wellbeing in favor of getting seven people’s work done is astounding.</p><p>He gets Hayato on the floor with ease and turns him on his side. In just a few seconds, thank every deity that's listening, Hayato blinks awake, sluggish and a little disoriented. </p><p>“You're staying in bed today,” Takeshi tells him as soon as he's sure Hayato is actually conscious. His tone leaves no room for questions, but Hayato tries, anyway.</p><p>“Am not,” he mutters, sitting up slowly. The movement clearly isn't kind to him, but he tries to ignore it to the best of his ability. “I have work to do and it’s not gonna do itself.” The genuine distress in Hayato’s voice over <em>paperwork</em> hurts Takeshi’s heart, because the fact that Hayato still feels the need to validate himself through his accomplishments is just <em> sad</em>. It reminds him so much of when they were in middle school and Hayato was ready to throw his life away in a fraction of a second just to prove himself and his loyalty and ability. The fourteen-year-old Gokudera Hayato who had absolutely no interest in keeping his own life if dying meant that he could be useful, that someone would look at him and think he’s worth something. Anything.</p><p>He still sees that sometimes.</p><p>“You'll be able to do it better when you're healthy, okay? Hey, I’ll take some of your paperwork, yeah? We’ll delegate it to people who know what they’re doing. And you go to sleep.” Takeshi’s gentle voice, admittedly laced with a little bit of his flame, tends to work miracles. Usually. It does nothing to alleviate Hayato’s obvious anxiety over the matter.</p><p>“No, you don't get it, I have a schedule–”</p><p>“I know you have a schedule.”</p><p>“–and I’m already so <em> behind </em> on it and–”</p><p>“You're not, by the way.”</p><p>“–then there’s, there’s, wait, what?” Hayato’s eyes snap to Takeshi at the speed of light. </p><p>“I’ve seen your schedule, okay?” Takeshi explains. “And I promise you, you're not behind. I know you like to do everything a few days ahead, but you can afford to take a day off. I promise. Yeah?” </p><p>For a moment, Hayato’s posture goes defensive, but it deflates quickly. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and seems to finally succumb to his exhaustion, and Takeshi sighs in relief. He hates arguing with Hayato, even more so when he's this stressed. He knows Hayato hates it, too, which makes him hate it even more. He’s never really understood why two people who hate fighting fight. </p><p>“Okay,” Hayato breathes. “Okay. But you're carrying me back to bed. I don't... think I can walk back,” he admits, shame coloring his tone as he averts his eyes. Takeshi resists the urge to start telling him how he has no reason to feel ashamed, how it’s just the two of them.</p><p>“We can work with that,” he says instead, offering a gentle smile. Slowly and steadily he drags Hayato up, watching out for signs of dizziness and gonna-pass-outs. The change in altitude drains the color from his face, but Hayato bites his lip until he stops swaying dangerously. Takeshi waits for him to nod, unsteady as the motion may be, before swiftly lifting him up. </p><p>Hayato feels too light in his arms, Takeshi thinks, but refrains from making a comment about it. Hayato has always been built lighter than him even when considering their height difference, leaning more towards wiry than Takeshi or Ryouhei, but Takeshi is almost sure he’s lost weight. He’ll have to talk to Shamal about it, he decides. </p><p>By the time Takeshi makes it back to their shared quarters, Hayato is dozing off, head resting on Takeshi’s shoulder and eyes half-mast. Takeshi puts him down on the bed and has to gently pry Hayato’s fingers off where they have curled into the sleeve of Takeshi’s shirt. </p><p>“Hey,” Takeshi says, quiet in the silence of their home as he brushes a strand of hair to the side from Hayato’s forehead. “Why don’t we get you into something more comfortable, and then you can go to sleep.”</p><p>“I want your hoodie,” Hayato says, pushing himself up to sit. It looks difficult. Takeshi reaches into his side of the closet and pulls out a soft, worn hoodie that once upon a time had the logo of Namimori Middle’s baseball team. It’s a little frayed at the sleeves, courtesy of one of Hayato’s nervous habits (one that Takeshi takes gladly, if it means Hayato isn’t picking at his skin), but it’s soft and it’s warm, and that’s what matters. </p><p>Takeshi turns around to see Hayato kicking his pants off and starting to struggle with the buttons of his shirt. Takeshi isn’t sure how he even managed to get it on, not to mention work with the buttons at all. </p><p>“Let me help?” he asks, already reaching for Hayato’s collar. Hayato drops his hands and closes his eyes, posture slumping.</p><p>“I’m tired,” Hayato rasps just as Takeshi moves to unbutton the last button. He makes quick work of it and helps Hayato out of the shirt. In daylight, he can see the new burns along his arms better than he could last night; he’s seen far worse, but they’re still burns, and cover most of Hayato’s forearms. </p><p>“I know you are. Do you have that stuff that Shamal made you for the burns?” Takeshi gestures at the irritated skin. He almost wants to touch, probably could, too, with his flame, but doesn’t quite dare. </p><p>“In the bathroom. Can I have that hoodie now?” </p><p>“Here. I kinda want to give you something for that fever, too, but I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” </p><p>“It’s probably not, you’re right,” Hayato sighs as he pulls the hoodie over his head. “It’s fine. I’ll talk to Shamal about it later, see if he has something that won’t possibly give me a third ulcer.” Takeshi listens to him talk as he walks to the bathroom to grab the burn cream and a glass of water for Hayato. </p><p>He comes back to Hayato sitting at the edge of the bed, in the hoodie and red flannel pants. He has rolled his sleeves up, and Takeshi can see his fingers digging into the mattress. </p><p>“I worry about you, you know?” Takeshi tells Hayato, and kneels in front of him. He sets the glass on the nightstand and opens the jar in his hands as Hayato silently offers his arm. Hayato doesn’t answer, and Takeshi doesn’t expect him to. </p><p>By the time Takeshi is done with his arms, Hayato’s eyes are slipping closed and he’s starting to list to the side. Silently, he closes the jar and reaches for the glass, one hand nudging at Hayato’s jawline. His eyes open sluggishly. </p><p>“Hey there.”</p><p>“Hey, you.”</p><p>“Drink some water for me, okay?”</p><p>Hayato’s hand shakes as he reaches for the glass, so Takeshi helps him hold it steady and bring it to his lips. </p><p>“Thank you,” Hayato whispers, pushing the glass away after three small sips. “For… this. For caring. Being you.”</p><p>“Anything for you.” Takeshi gets up from the floor and sits down next to Hayato. He pulls him close and presses a soft kiss to his temple. </p><p>“Anything.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading!</p><p><a href="https://explodoriot.tumblr.com">anime trash blog</a> II <a href="https://queerheda.tumblr.com">writeblr</a></p><p>come scream with me on tumblr especially about these two but also about anything else</p></blockquote></div></div>
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